Rich and famous, young and pretty
by 898700
Summary: Back in 2011 I started writing a Reid-is-a-model fic, then dropped it, choose a slightly different plot and wrote 'Life as a pretty boy' instead. This is that first story, never posted before and now officially abandoned at 10K words. Model!Reid AU, Lila is his BFF, pairing was to be Rossi/Reid but that never happened.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Back in 2011 there was a prompt I really liked in the Criminal Minds Kink Meme: _Hotch/Reid or Rossi/Reid please. Or even a threesome, maybe with Emily? Ooh... or he could be bffs with Lila Archer._

I choose Rossi/Reid for my pairing and started writing a fill. And then wrote more. And more. And more. Thing is, the pairing wasn't happening. I couldn't find the right moment to bring it into the story, and I really wanted to. So instead I opened a new document, and the result was what would become another fic of mine, **Life as a pretty boy**. The thing is, **Life** is 2.4K words while the first fic was 10.6K the moment I abandoned it. I thought about using some of its scenes in other fics, but they didn't fit with the plots or the atmospheres. And eventually I wrote other fics in the **Life** universe, and then found a better way to develop what I feel is a more successful attempt of a Rossi/Reid (**Of joint ventures and partnering**, which I promise I will eventually continue), so there has never been much incentive to finish this.

This is why I'm giving myself WIP amnesty and posting it as an officially abandoned fic. There's too much written to just keep in my computer, and I think some of you might like it. But I'm not going to write more. I cannot reach the writing mind space needed to continue this particular story. It was fun to write and taught me much despite the failing-to-appear-pairing problems, but my headcanon model!Reid is the one from my **Life** universe, and I plan to write at least two more stories for it.

Anyway, here it is. I hope you'll find it entertaining.

* * *

"Since when does the BAU act like personal bodyguards?"

To say David Rossi is pissed off is a gross understatement. He doesn't like being bossed around by the likes of Erin Strauss, especially for the benefit of the famous and wealthy.

_He_ is famous and wealthy, goddamit. He isn't supposed to be sacrificing his off-rotation time for some gossip-notorious simpleton.

Morgan, not looking happier than Dave feels after the crappiness that commercial flight is, pulls his carry-on with more fieriness than necessary. "Look, it was either you or Hotch, and somehow I think him spending time with Jack trumps over whatever plans you had."

Of course, none of them mentions still-too-green Ashley.

"Whatever," Dave huffs back. Because, well, battle lost or not, there is no way David Rossi wouldn't have the final word.

It turns out Morgan personally knows Lila Archer, which kind of explains why he rushes to take the this-close-to-private consultation and pull Dave with him, the bastard.

Not that Dave can't see the appeal, but then, the supposed victim (or victim-to-be, as nothing has yet happened, not that Dave believes anything is going to happen), is Lila Archer's boyfriend.

"Previous BAU case, she had a stalker," Morgan helpfully (not really) provides once they aboard the limousine Miss Archer sends to collect them. He says nothing more, so Dave pulls out his much-dreaded PDA and painfully slowly manages a _Lila Archer's file - ASAP, please and thank you _ right in time before they stop.

The driver is opening his door when he pushes _Send_, and he leaves the vehicle pondering whether he should call Garcia. He still doesn't trust the technology much; it hasn't let him down yet, but it is only a matter of time.

"Miss Archer will see you now," a woman greets them at the mansion's main door - the housekeeper, Dave decides. Early fifties, Latina, probably illegal, as the rich slash famous slash young slash pretty usually lack the brains to think about checking backgrounds.

"We're actually looking for," and Dave pauses to take a glance at the file, "Mister Reid, if he's home."

The women smiles solicitous while leading them towards the back garden's crystal doors. "Oh, he's at a photo shoot at the moment. I'll make sure Johann informs Mr. Reid of your presence."

"Johann?" Morgan asks, but it is only a token question, as the Agent's mind is elsewhere, as is obvious by the not-so-hidden admiration he devotes to studying the young, pretty and female body of the person approaching them from the pool.

"Spencer's bodyguard," the woman, Lila Archer, says. "He's actually our personal trainer, but his background makes him adequate to oversee Spencer's security, if only temporally." She shrugs, accepting Morgan's help to get into a terrycloth bathrobe. "Spencer doesn't trust people easily, and the police officers have been … less than helpful."

"Whereas the FBI is nothing but," Dave cracks back, not bothering to hide his disgust behind a sweet and much fake smile.

"Miss Archer, this is Special Supervisory Agent David Rossi, one of the founders of the Behavior Analysis Unit," _even if he doesn't act like it_, Morgan's tone says. "And I'm Derek Morgan, we've met before."

"I do remember you, Agent Morgan," Miss Archer says, shaking his hand and smiling at him before sparing a wary glance in Dave's direction. "I was expecting Agent Gideon, though."

"Agent Gideon retired a few years ago," Morgan explains. He doesn't add, but Dave knows is on his mind, that the team has also lost JJ and Elle Greenway, and Prentiss, and a bit of Hotch's soul too, in the interim.

Jason's absence, though, appears to be something Lila Archer has problems dealing with, as proves her confused "Oh," and the way she looks at them again, as if expecting one or the other to pull the man out of their pocket. "I fear that changes things a bit," she says, and before any of them has the chance to speak, she continues, signaling at the housekeeper. "Mrs. Suez will show you to your rooms. We'll have dinner in an hour. Anything you need, just ask."

"Some answers would be good," Dave grumbles at her retreating back, and Morgan's _hmmm_ seems to mirror the sentiment. They don't get any from Mrs. Suez, though, just a pleasant smile.

"Hey, Baby Girl," he hears Morgan speak into his cell phone while Dave bedroom's door closes. "Do you think you can dig the Lila Archer file for me?" As expected, a knock follows almost immediately. "Garcia wants to know if you've checked your inbox," Morgan says as soon as Dave opens the door, and then "He hasn't, my red-haired tech Queen" before Dave opens his mouth.

Not that Morgan isn't right.

"Ask her if she sent Gideon's notes."

"I don't think-" Morgan starts to retort, just to interrupt himself by paying attention to something Garcia says into his ear. "Well, thanks, babe. In fact I do. Gideon's notes. On the case, yes. I don't know. Maybe on the archive downstairs? Yes, I guess might know, but let's not bother him, okay? I'll tell you if we have no other choice. Okay, bye, sweetness. Not, _you_ are."

Dave closes the door on Morgan's face, rolling his eyes at the blatant flirting. He managed to catch a glimpse of a luxury shower before being interrupted, and although he's not new to trendy and expensively customized bathroom appliances and has his own at home, thank you very much, after the torture of flying _tourist class_, damn you overbooked airlines, he really needs the pampering.

The sound of something breaking takes Dave out of his bedroom, where he barely manages being run over by a recently showered, gun raised, shirtless Derek Morgan.

He can almost imagine the headlines: _Soap Opera Drama comes true!_

Actually, that isn't as biting as needed. He is slipping.

"- didn't know he wasn't in the FBI anymore," he hears Miss Archer say, oddly calm.

"I could have told you," a male voice answers, and Dave enters the dining room just in time to see the owner, a young, thin and tall man, turn around and take a step back as he and Morgan arrive.

"And how _exactly_ would you have known that?" Dave asks, genuinely curious, looking around for signs of fight and distress. There is none except on the man: a long gash on his left cheek, blood on his clothes and hair, a torn sleeve.

"Look, Agent Rossi, Agent Morgan," he says placatingly, "I'm sorry you came for nothing. Why don't we relocate you to a nice hotel for the rest of the weekend? Our treat, of course."

"For _nothing_," Morgan snorts incredulously, circling the room to make sure nobody is hiding behind the curtains or something. "Man, I don't know if you've seen yourself in a mirror, but it is kind of obvious your day hasn't been exactly uneventful."

"It was a car accident," the man says, as he reaches to take the hand of Miss Archer. "I'm fine, I swear."

It smells of lie to Dave, although he doesn't know why, as there are none of the markers that his interrogator side relates to liars.

"Mister Reid?" a wobbly voice intervenes, the housekeeper. Her eyes are red-rimmed and she's carrying a coat and a handbag. "I am ready. I mean, if you …"

She breaks down before ending the phrase, then a notch more when the young man pulls her into a full embrace.

"He's going to be fine, Anna, I give you my word," he whispers, his voice thick but loud enough for them all to hear.

Dave shifts in place, uncomfortable at the lack of explanation, giving them just a moment before starting to ask for answers.

Miss Archer beats him, though. "I, I," she hesitates, waits until everybody's attention is on her, blushes but continues resolutely. "I don't think you should leave the house, Spencer."

It is the cue they've been waiting for, and Morgan takes it swiftly, with the ease that brings years of interrogations and witnesses' interviewing. "I'm assuming you weren't alone on this, this _car accident_," he stresses. "Johann?" he adds with a softer tone, looking at Mrs. Suez and waiting for her nod before continuing. "If Miss Archer is right and your life is in danger, then you're endangering those around you."

He lefts the next hang in the air, unsaid. _This is your fault_.

They all wait in silence while the man, Reid, thinks it over, his left arm still around Mrs. Suez's shoulders. He twirls the keychain Dave's just noticed he's been keeping in his hand this whole time, then seems to reach a decision.

"You better take Lila's BMW," he instructs Morgan, looking at his girlfriend for approval.

Miss Archer nods, hugs the other woman and says something to her too soft for Dave to hear. "The keys are by the door," she says to Morgan.

They exchange a look, Morgan and Dave, meaningful in their _we-have-known-each-other-for-years_ way. Nothing needs to be said, they both know what to do. They both trust the other to do what's needed.


	2. Chapter 2

Half hour later, Dave is outside, talking to both Morgan and Garcia.

"He keeps insisting there's nothing wrong." To be honest, he didn't even have a fair chance to (_interrogate_) speak to the man, as he'd left almost immediately under the excuse of wanting to clean himself. He took Miss Archer with him, asking for her help to dress his wounds.

_"The other man in the accident was Johann Suez, son of Anna Suez,"_ Morgan's voice sounds slightly distorted from using the speaker. _"He's in the OR right now, but the doctors said he gave his statement already. I'm going to the Police Department to see what I can find."_

Garcia's voice is clearer, the clickity-clack of her typing fast and furious in the background.

_"Anna Suez is a first generation immigrant from Belgium, from mixed descent. I can't find anything about her life before entering the USA, including her maiden name, but that's because I really, really know no Dutch or German, and my French is not good enough to crack into their official records in so short notice._

_"Johann Suez, on the other hand, is a hundred percent American. Normal childhood as far as I can tell, a clean rap sheet, and wouldn't you know? He's a former Marine."_

"Why did he leave?" Dave asks, venturing a guess.

_"He requested his leave when his father got sick, pulmonary cancer. Died six months later, the poor thing."_ Dave waits and so does Morgan, giving her a moment to collect herself. _"He's been working on security since, first with private contractors in war zones, then with one Miss Lila Archer since about … three months ago."_

_"Wait, baby girl. Is his contract with Miss Archer as security?"_

_"It doesn't say, my chocolate bomb, but why wouldn't that be?"_

Dave frowns, knowing Morgan is doing the same.

"Miss Archer said he was their personal trainer."

_"Reeeally? Well, that's - oh, wait!"_ Dave waits, looking at his surroundings at he does so. The external walls are all electrified, and he's seen a few security cameras. The work is particularly discreet, however, not the flashy kind he's come to expect in the homes of the rich and famous. _"Yep,"_ Garcia chirps, making him focus back on her. _"There are personal checks from both Archer and Reid's bank accounts, to be paid to Johann Suez. They all say 'Training Lessons', and the dates coincide with Suez's yearly leaves. The oldest one dates from six years ago."_

_"How long has been Mrs. Suez working for them?"_ By the background noise of Morgan, Dave can say the man is parking his car.

_"That's easy. Let me see … six, almost seven years."_ Garcia pauses, waiting, as Dave does, to know if Morgan is still with them. _"What does that mean?"_ she asks, her tone making clear it is a rhetorical question.

_"I don't know, apple pie, but it is curious. Keep digging; see what else you can find."_

Dave gags silently but smiles at Garcia's giggling. _"Apple pie?"_ she asks, her tone as disbelieving as Dave's mental voice.

_"Well, you _do_ call me muffin, don't you?"_ Morgan says, a beep-beep announcing a car alarm has been locked. _"Look, baby girl, I have to go. Keep me posted."_

_"I will, my stud muffin! Ta-da!"_ And then she hangs up.

It takes ten seconds for Dave's phone to ring. He puts it on speaker but doesn't greet the caller. It takes Garcia other ten seconds to cave.

_"Uh, Agent Rossi, sir?"_ she says in an obviously embarrassed voice.

He _has_ to use his most serious FBI bad-ass voice.

"Yes?"

The second pause is as long as the first, and Garcia's voice sounds even tiniest.

_"Sorry?"_

"What do you have on Spencer Reid?" He's not really letting it slip easily. He's just storing enough ammunition for when it is needed.

_"Right, Spencer Reid. Well, there are the well known facts. He's young, pretty, rich and famous, the last two directly correlated to the first two, given that he happens to be part of the really exclusive club of male super models. By the way, it just doesn't seem right that there are so few male super models, when compared to the girl's side of the sample. It is kind of sexist, don't you think?"_

"Garcia …"

_"Right, right, moving on. Anyway, he's rich enough to not need to work for the rest of his life, but is still at the peak of his career, or even getting there. He's the face of three top companies, all of them really exclusive, all of them handsomely paying. He's also been able to keep himself out of major scandals, which in itself is a major achievement, if I'm allowed to say."_

"About Lila Archer-"

_"Getting there. The two of them are the Hollywood equivalent of high school sweethearts. They've been together for a little over _ten years_, if you can believe it. There's been the always popular rumor of cheating and breaking up, but they usually vanish quite innocuously. On the other hand, the gossiping about marriage and baby making have also proven to be false again and again, so there's always the doubt of how happy they really are. Not that you need to be married with children to be happy, if you ask me."_

Dave frowns. This is like the condensed, real life equivalent of watching an E! documental. Not that he'll admit to watching the channel.

_"So, the story of his life. He was born in New York, father unknown. His mother died when he was sixteen, still a child but old enough to emancipate. He landed his first modeling gig at age eighteen and met Lila around the same time, they've been together since. They became more and more famous, he as a model and she as an actress, in fact is kind of like their fame _feeds_ of each other's you know? They are absolutely clean: no drugs, no drunken parties, no sex tapes, no nude photos littering the internet. In fact, they are kind of _boring_."_

"Except for the part about her getting a stalker along the way."

_"Right. So, I'm going to assume you read the file. He actually moved in after her close encounter with the BAU, and shortly after that they bought another house which is the one you're currently staying at. Anyway, about six months ago she called the police about a break-in. Due to her story, and who she is, the LAPD got really involved. They got nothing, though. Then the story repeated itself again and again, except it became obvious that Spencer Reid and not Lila Archer was the focus. There have been too many accidents around this boy to deem them accidental, if I'm allowed to say. Sudden fires in the dressing room, light lamps falling on the runway, there was even an instance when a gun prompt happened to have real bullets."_

"None of this was in the file." The case file, in fact, consists of only one sheet that lists all the calls Lila Archer has made to the Police Department, and makes her sound like a paranoid or-

_"Somebody at the PD seems to believe she's a fame seeker, which seems unlikely, given hers and her boyfriend's history. But well, as I was saying, there's no proof that the accidents are not accidental. Am I saying _accident_ too much? I really could use a synonym there …"_

"Event," Dave helpfully supplies.

_"No, that makes me think of aliens invading Earth. Anyway, they've kind of dumped the case, the police I mean. I had to do some serious hacking to recover all the erased files from the LAPD computers."_

It makes Dave bristle in anger.

"LEOs aren't supposed to erase files, no matter if the episode being recorded turns out to be fake."

_"I know! Moreover, I get the idea that they have deliberately been ignoring Lila Archer's recent reports, which explains why-"_

"Which explains why she called Morgan," he finishes for her.

_"Actually, the record says the call was fend by Chief Strauss herself,"_ Garcia corrects with in a slightly disgusted shudder. _"Any idea as to why she agreed to it?"_

"None," he has to admit. Mysteries keep piling, and for some reason he cannot convince himself they are relevant to the BAU, even if his sixth sense keeps screaming at him in warning. "Did you find Gideon's notes?"

_"Nope, sorry, none. But if they _are_ in the archive they might have been displaced. We can grab some juniors and make them dig, if we need to."_

That's too much, especially for something that's not an official case, so he finds himself forced to decline her offer. "Don't. I don't really think Gideon would have left anything relevant out of the official files. Keep looking at Reid's background, something is bothering me there. And see if you can find anything more on Suez."

_"Okay, sir. Call you back, sir."_

The garden, he notices, is now fully illuminated. Between the lights, the cameras and the barely visible movement sensors, there seems not to be one unsupervised spot. There are also two monstrous dogs sitting at Lila Archer's feet when he returns to the house.

"Don't worry," Spencer Reid says, entering the living room from another door, with a smile that's a little bit nervous. "They bite, but they are completely besotted by Lila, so as long as she says you're okay they won't attack you."

The dogs do in fact seem to have Reid under direct surveillance while he crosses the room and approaches Miss Archer, but after she reaches at him and kisses him lightly on the lips, they stop paying attention to him … and focus on Dave.

"I hope you don't mind me kissing your girlfriend," he attempts a joke, moving with careful steps to Miss Archer's side while the dogs look at him directly and growl, a low hum that reverberates on his bones.

"I'm not jealous," Reid offers, a declaration that earns him an arched eyebrow from Dave. Reid rolls his eyes. "I can't be, due to her work."

Still, Miss Archer simply extends her hand and makes no attempt to kiss him. "I fear I failed to properly introduce myself. Lila Archer, you can call me Lila." Thankfully, the two beasts seem to take it as approval, and docilely go outside when she orders them to.

"Spencer Reid," the younger man says then, shaking Dave's hand. "And you can call me Reid."

"No Spencer?"

"Only Lila calls me Spencer," he declares with a goofy smile that she returns good-naturedly.

Dave is wondering how best to approach a subject they obviously have no interest in discussing, but then Lila shares a look with Reid and waits for his nod. "Should we wait for Agent Morgan?" she asks. "I'm sure you're starving by now."

In truth, he is. Thankfully, Morgan isn't likely to take offense if they eat without him, and he says so.

"Then please be our guest," Reid declares with a gesture that Dave finds old-fashioned, although he can't explain why.

He gets the same feeling many times during dinner. Something about the way the young man moves makes Dave think of his grandfather, back in Italy. It is so at odds with the mental image he has of fashion super models, not that Dave knew beforehand he had a mental image of models of any kind, that he can't help but find himself enthralled by the man as the night progresses. He can _see_ why he is a model, it's just …

He is gorgeous. They both are, Lila and he, and they paint a beautiful picture, with their soft smiles and their unassuming, small yet deeply intimate touches, a casual brush of hands, hair strands softly removed behind an ear shell, an unhurried peck that doesn't really start and doesn't really end …

There's also zero sexual chemistry between the two of them.

Dave finds it peculiar, because of, well, the intimacy they obviously share. But it takes him not long to decide there's _trust_ between them, and that they love each other, deeply so.

Just not _that_ way.


	3. Chapter 3

"He's gay."

Morgan does a double take, and on the speaker, Garcia sputters.

_"Just because he's as cute as a button it doesn't mean he's not straight."_

They are in his bedroom, Morgan wolfing down dinner while Dave goes over his notes.

"He was _really_ interested in Morgan when we first met," Dave insists.

This time it is Morgan who sputters. "He wasn't!"

"His gaze lingered a bit longer than necessary on your chest," Dave helpfully supplies.

"No it didn't!"

_"His _chest_?"_ Garcia asks, sounding as if she's trying to decipher a clue she doesn't really believe exists.

"Morgan wasn't using a shirt at the time." Dave smiles, clearly imagining Garcia's wicked smile.

_"You, mighty stud, you!"_

Morgan groans and glares at Dave. He's being a bastard, he knows.

It feels _good_.

"Could you please stop feeding her sick fantasies? Please?"

_"Oh, honey, I _really_ don't need help with any fantasies involving you. Although, Agent Rossi, sir, if I'm allowed to say, _any_ creature with a bit of blood in their veins would have let their gaze wander if faced with a half-naked beautiful specimen such as our own Derek Morgan."_

"I _wasn't_ half-naked!" Morgan almost yells, cringing when he obviously remembers they are not the only inhabitants of the house. "I _wasn't_," he angrily delivers between grinding teeth.

They remain in silence for a moment, until a smile slowly appears on Morgan's lips.

"Okay, yes, _maybe_ he was interested. Just a little bit," and Dave has to roll his eyes because, really. The man doesn't need a more inflated ego. "But that doesn't mean he's a hundred percent into men," Morgan continues, seriousness returning to his features. "I mean, he could be bi. There's Lila."

"Whom he has no sexual interest towards."

_"Well, it is not like we can _ask_, right?"_ Garcia wonders after a moment, trusting Dave's word because, after all, he's the only one among the three of them that has spent quality time with the couple. _"And don't take this as complain, sir, but how is this relevant to the case?"_

It is Morgan who answers. "It means there could be a passion element to the attacks, maybe one of the two is romantically and, _or_ sexually involved with someone else, and they can't be together because, well …"

_"Because Lila and Spencer have some kind of publicity pact going on, which is a bummer because I kind of have been rooting for them for _years_."_

"Reid."

_"Hmmm, what?"_

"He asked to be called Reid, not Spencer."

Now there's a wicked smile on _Morgan's_ face, and Dave doesn't like it a bit.

"Are you getting close and personal with the kid, Rossi?"

"He's a man, not a kid," Rossi retorts, choosing to ignore the other part of the sentence.

"He might not be that young but he certainly looks the part, don't you agree? He certainly deserves the nickname they gave him, _prettiest boy on Earth_."

_"Honey-bunny, as much as it makes me hot and bothered to hear you sing praises of this delightful piece of man-meat's yumminess-"_

"I am not-!"

_"-I do _have_ a boyfriend who's waiting for me in bed, whips and chains ready, sex toys a-plenty-"_

"Oh God just kill me now-"

"Garcia, report," Dave cuts with his best Hotch's imitation, because deep down he's a White Knight, and now and then he helps Those In Need.

_"Right, sir. I have to say, sir, that the more I dig in Spencer Reid's past, the more it makes me uneasy."_

"Why? What did you find?"

_"That's the problem, sir, I just can't find anything. Everything is what it should be, where it should be. It just feels a bit too perfect to be real. I know I have no proof, but it is just …"_

"A gut feeling."

_"Yessir. I'm sorry I don't have anything, sir."_

"You might have, Garcia. Just keep digging."

_"I will, sir. Anything from you, my lava lover?"_

Dave almost groans but valiantly refrains. These two just get more ridiculous by the second.

"I convinced the officer in charge to let me check the car Reid and Suez where in when the accident occurred. There's no visible sign of tampering, but something about the way the police hid the whole thing under the rug gives me bad vibes. Rossi tells me it's been a recurring occurrence."

_"Yep. I've sent the erased reports to both of your accounts."_

"Okay. I also need you to look for any proof there's been an order of any sort about how to deal this case within the LAPD."

The way he puts it, it makes Dave frown.

"You think this comes from the higher-ups?"

Morgan nods. "The detectives I talked to, they are none too happy about the way the whole thing is being handled. They refuse to elaborate, though."

_"Something is seriously wrong, sir,"_ Garcia sums up their findings.

Dave wholeheartedly agrees.

"We can't help if you don't tell us the truth," Morgan says for the hundred time, his patience running rather thin. It actually has been kind of a thing of beauty, the way Reid manages to run around them in circles. They are profilers, among the best agents the FBI has to offer, and still an empty-headed super model has managed to keep them at bay.

_Not so empty-headed_, Dave says to himself, because at least that much they have achieved. He makes a mental note to ask Garcia to look for Spencer Reid's academic history, because there's some serious brain power he is hiding in that pretty head. He probably doesn't realize how much he's disclosing by the simple act of resisting their onslaught, but after all, that's the sort of clues they've been trained to look for.

"Check for any kind of training on interrogation techniques, Garcia," Morgan orders when they take a break, too tired to think of any flirty comebacks. "Military service, boarding schools, _anything_."

The thing is, despite what Dave has been expecting, Spencer Reid doesn't hide from them. They remain guests at the house and the young man agrees to talk to them for as long as they want. His approach seems to be to tire them, and the serious cricks on Dave's neck and the serious fraying of Morgan's nerves make clear it is working all right.

The flaw in the plan is that it doesn't take in account Dave and Morgan's stubbornness.

"You never answered my question," Dave finds himself eventually saying, for once alone with Reid after Morgan has decided that he _needs_ to hit something and Reid has generously offered his home gym for Morgan to (ab)use.

Something in Reid's eyes has Dave convinced the young man knows _exactly_ what question he's talking about. That doesn't stop him from asking "What was that?", as Dave expected he would, nonetheless.

"How exactly did you know that Jason Gideon was not in the BAU anymore?"

There's a moment of silence during which Dave can almost hear the thoughts clicking in Reid's brain, processing possible answers and their possible outcomes as if it were a game of chess.

"There's this thing called Google Alerts," he finally says, stretching luxuriously and making Dave painfully jealous of his youth. "You create an alert on any topic, Agent Gideon for example, and every time anybody posts anything on the internet about said topic, you get an email in your inbox informing you."

Dave doesn't know if that's possible. If it is, and he's going to extensively question Garcia about it, he's got to create some alerts on his own name, and his books.

"Not all that happens in the real world shows up in the web," he says, because he's a contradictory bastard that enjoys pointing the flaws on well … everything.

Reid smiles a really sweet and shy smile, one that makes Dave want to smile back, so he growling announces that he's hungry instead.

_"According to his schools' records, he's about average,"_ Garcia announces in one of her multiple calls, and then goes to continue with her searches.

"Bullshit," Morgan spats while slamming the printed copy of the records on the table. Reid, Dave dutifully notices, takes his time to leaf through the pages. His only comment is a shrug in the end.

"Have you ever cheated on your girlfriend, Spencer?" Dave asks, twirling a pen with his right hand. The flash of anger in Reid's eyes is unexpected and fleeting; in counterpart, Dave reins his surprise quite well, or so he tells to himself.

"I love Lila very much," Reid declares in a tone that tries not to be dry but fails just a little, finally a crack in the man's formidable armor.

"That's not an answer," Dave retorts, and Reid shrugs. Dave is getting to fucking hate with a passion those damn shrugs.

"This people have been hurt because of you," Derek announces in an ominous voice while setting, side by side, pictures from the files rescued by Garcia. If there's a reaction from Reid, it doesn't reach the exterior. "All collateral damage, don't you mind?" Two aides, another model, a hair stylist, technical personnel, a photographer, a random passer-by, Johann Suez.

"Don't you dare shrug," Dave threatens, and perhaps due to surprise, Reid doesn't.

"So, Spencer, when was the last time you slept with a man?" Dave asks, twirling a pen with his left hand. "Because if you _really_ have been loyal to your girlfriend, then that has to be a _really_ long time to go without sex."

Reid looks at him, _really_ looks at him, and time stops.

"Are you flirting with me, Dave?" he says, all smoky and, and, stuff.

Dave's pen lands in the other side of the room. Reid smirks.

"You realize they are coming for Lila next, don't you?" Morgan asks. Dave isn't sure what happens next, but Morgan ends sporting a black eye for the next week because of it.

The armor cracks, cracks, cracks after that.

"How exactly did you know that Jason Gideon was not in the BAU anymore?" Dave asks again.

He waits, and waits, and waits.

"There's a history of mental illness in my family," Reid eventually says, as if it explains everything. Then Reid adds, noticing that Dave is not getting it, "You have to understand, Agent Rossi, that in my career I cannot trust anybody with … _delicate _issues."

Dave frowns. There's a bit of truth on Reid's words, so much he can say. But Jason, although versed in Psychology, never had an interest in opening a practice.

"I worked with Gideon many years," he says, carefully measuring his words. "And, although admittedly talented, the man was also a bastard that did nothing if it didn't bring him personal benefit."

Reid's stare is … bottomless is a good way to describe it, Dave decides.

"There was chemistry between Jason and I." There's enough in Reid's declaration to make Dave _believe _it, and he has to excuse himself, drown himself in freezing water, want to punch the bathroom's wall with all his might.

He's not sure why it bothers him so much. Perhaps it is Reid's not completely hidden discomfort while he utters those words. Perhaps it is the fact that Dave. Doesn't. Want To. Think Of. Jason Fucking Gideon. _That_. _Fucking. Way_.

Especially not with Reid, not with the mind Dave has been catching glimpses of all day long. Because Gideon, as brilliant as he is, has a way to wreak havoc and destroy beautiful minds, his own included.

_"His father insists on remaining missing and his mother, who by the way died in a fire, was the only child of only children,"_ Garcia explains while Morgan and Dave nurse matching migraines. _"No history of family illness, mental or otherwise."_

"Have you tried looking elsewhere, gorgeous?" Morgan asks, his question rapidly followed by a groan as he drops his head back into his hands.

_"What do you mean?"_

"You've said it yourself, his back story is too perfect. Would you say it is fake?"

Garcia's hesitant _"Maybe"_ is all Morgan needs to continue.

"Fake stories usually have some bit of truth on them. What would you say is true in his, Rossi?"

Rossi doesn't have to think long to answer.

"The family mental illness. The single parent."

"Did you hear that, baby girl? Search for a single mother with a mental illness and a brilliant son about Spencer Reid's age."

"Make that a broad search," Rossi instructs. "I have the feeling he's not from New York. Start with major cities, though. He very probably is a city boy."

He regrets the last word when Morgan smirks at him.

They call it a night, despite the fact that it is four a.m. already. But they've been up for over forty hours already, and that entitles them to call it whatever they want.


	4. Chapter 4

Ten a.m., breakfast. Miss Archer - Lila, looks fresh and young and irritably rested. Dave knows the last part is an act, because while he and Morgan worked on Reid's defenses, she worked on her new script's lines right in the next room.

Still: fresh, young and rested.

Reid arrives when they've already started, but just barely. He says "take care" in the phone, Lila's attention completely on him. "He had a good night," Reid tells her and they share a relieved smile immediately followed by a quick chaste kiss.

From the other side of the table, Morgan raises his eyebrow at Dave.

"Agent Morgan, may I ask you a favor?" Reid asks while he squeezes a lemon slice over his fruit salad. "Could you accompany Lila today?"

It is so unexpected that Morgan doesn't answer immediately, and he shares another look with Dave before doing so. "As long as you allow Agent Rossi to go with you."

Reid frowns (remarkably reminding Dave of glowering kittens, which is funny until he remembers Morgan's black eye), but eventually nods in agreement. He doesn't utter another word for the rest of breakfast.

All in all, the world of modeling is remarkable _boring_ - except in the beginning, because Reid's car happens to be a 1948 Tucker that makes Dave just a little bit jealous.

"It is a custom copy," the man explains when Dave just stands there instead of getting in, and of course, has to be, there are not enough Tuckers around, and they are too rare to put them in the streets anyway.

Dave just knows what he's going to get himself for Christmas.

But the rest of the day? _Boring_. The first person they meet is Reid's agent, who's just enough freaked out about the car accident that he completely ignores Dave.

The second is the resident physician, and he's not as much freaked out about the accident as worried about Reid's injuries and bruises, especially those either visible or likely to scar. He pokes Reid, inquires about pain levels, writes a script (which Reid turns to confetti as soon as they leave the doctor's office), and ignores Dave too.

Then comes the hair and make-up crew, and if they don't completely ignore Dave, it is because they keep getting in his way (and not the other way around, as they insinuate). But it is also somewhat interesting, as he gets to see them work their magic and the long reddish gash on Reid's cheek disappears, as do the bruised scraps on his right knuckles.

They do nothing for the dark circles under the man's eyes, though. In fact, by the end he looks even more pallid and somewhat resembling of a living corpse. Kind of ethereal too, but if anybody asks, Dave will only admit on the living corpse part.

Next they meet the photographer. He ignores Dave, which is only to be expected given recent experiences, and so he flops in a nearby chair, as far as possible from the blinding lights and the industrial fans and the fog machines, but still close enough to keep an eye on most of the people as they tide over like ants from an under-attack anthill, running to comply with what the ringmaster asks of them.

It is amusing at first but gets old too soon, and convinces Dave that the photographer only knows how to communicate in yells and degrading orders - unless he directly addresses Reid.

"That's why they love him so much," Reid's agent says, suddenly coming out of nowhere and with a chocolate muffin in his hand, focused on the enthusiast conversation taking place at the other side of the room. "The photographers and designers, that is. Reid always seems to understand what they want, even when they don't know themselves, or are unable to explain."

Dave nods, wondering where he can find a muffin on his own. They've been here for _hours_, and his stomach is starting to eat itself.

"So, Patrick," he says, using the name Garcia provided, just to make the man nervous, "I've heard business has been booming for you."

Patrick-the-agent doesn't seem ruffled, though. "Yeah, well. Having Reid in the firm really helps. His commissions made about a third of last year's income."

Garcia had said as much, adding a few other interesting bits with said information.

"But that percentage has been getting smaller, hasn't it? Your other models have been doing really well, from what I've been said."

Dave almost frowns when the man refuses to react at his accusing tone. Where the hell comes this people from?

"Yes they have," the agent says, his face calm. "By having Reid in our firm we've been attracting more promising models, which means we have more, and best, material to choose from. It only makes sense."

"Still, it must sting."

"Sting? I'm sorry, Agent, but I don't understand."

Of course he doesn't, Dave himself knows he is grasping at inexistent threads, but until they find a lead he has to work with what little information they have gathered.

"That you have to share your agency's profits with your investors, when you fought on your own so many years."

He naturally doesn't mention that there is just one other investor, and that it happens to be none other than Spencer Reid.

He apparently doesn't need to.

"Really, Agent?" Patrick says with a roll of his eyes. "You think I'm trying to off Reid to regain control of my agency?"

Dave shrugs. "As stated before, his value for your agency has been diminishing."

"Only because Reid is in charge of most of the behind-the-curtains management and makes the whole thing work, and is significantly better than I in reducing risks," the other man declares with a little self-deprecating smile. "Trust me, Agent Rossi, I'm the most interested in keeping that boy alive and kicking. If something were to happen to him, I'd be ruined in more than one way."

"Heard anything interesting, Agent Rossi?" Reid asks with a smile as he approaches them, reaching for the bottle of water his agent hands him.

Dave glares at the model. "Nothing you didn't coach him to say."

Patrick glares at Dave, obviously displeased at the suggestion. "He only told me to answer your questions truthfully,"

"But he did tell you what questions I would more likely ask," Dave retorts, and that seems to surprise the man enough to shut him up.

For a moment, at least.

"Are we done?" he asks, looking at Reid and pointedly turning his back on Dave.

Reid nods, smiling. "Yes, for the day, at least. And thanks but no," he adds, refusing the muffin Patrick offers him. "Right now my throat feels too scratchy due to the smoke. Why don't you go home? Agent Rossi will drive me to Lila's set."

And well, Dave is in a way obliged to comply, as he's supposed to be around to ensure Reid's safety as well as to try to figure out the whole mess. Still, it doesn't make him feel any less of a servant at the man's disposal.

The muffin eventually ends in his hands, along with its description (_triple chocolate_), origin (_especially baked just for Reid_) and a cryptic warning (_just be careful_) that after the first bite he discovers is indeed relevant.

Apparently the kid is a sugar junky.

He tosses the mostly intact thing in the next waste basket. His dentist would never forgive him if he got cavities at his age.


	5. Chapter 5

All in all, the day-to-day of the soap opera industry is remarkably boring, or so Morgan says. Dave finds himself pitying the man - at least he got to drive Reid's Turner.

"Only standard answers all around, from her and her personal assistants," Morgan informs while they wait, far enough to allow Reid and Lila some privacy while being sufficiently close to intervene were any of the wandering actors and production personnel littering the set choose to attack the young man.

"Let me guess, it almost felt as if somebody had coached them."

Morgan's snort is answer enough.

"I feel like picking our bags and returning to Virginia in the first available flight," he says, glaring at the world in general. "But I can't stop feeling that, as soon as we leave, the kid is going to die."

Dave silently agrees. "We can't force him to cooperate," he says, meaning _he won't let us force him_ rather than the usual _we shouldn't try to force him_. "And yet I'm sure he could have convinced us to leave long ago."

Morgan frowns as he considers it. "So what are you saying, he wants us to figure it out?"

"No. But I do believe that, although concerned about us discovering what he's hiding, he's not especially worried. He has a secret, but it is not relevant to us."

They remain silent for a few minutes, both obviously going over what they know so far.

"Witness Protection Program?" Morgan eventually ventures.

Dave shakes his head. "He's too public a figure for that. Although they could have constructed a new appearance to go with the new identity," he adds, playing Devil's Advocate.

"His bone structure is too particular for it," Morgan points out, dutifully ignoring Dave's arched eyebrow. "Undercover agent?"

"We're talking about a decade here," Dave retorts. "You were undercover; how often does an operation last this long?"

As expected, Morgan shakes his head in denial. "Not very often. And there's the fact that he was eighteen when his modeling career started. No Agency would have trained a minor, much less assigned them a case important enough to last over ten years."

That leaves an option, and it falls on Dave to voice it. "He's a snitch."

It does make sense - clever or not, is doesn't seem farfetched to imagine Spencer Reid getting in trouble, the environment he is immersed in being as conductive as it is to just too many peccadilloes and self-indulgences. It is also easy to imagine him cutting a deal with the local PD, maybe even a Federal Agency (the FDA?).

It'd answer many of the questions they currently have.

Morgan's chuckle is unexpected, given the circumstances. "That muffin," he explains when Dave looks at him questioningly, and signals in the direction of their current enigma. "One of Lila's assistants almost killed me when I took it. Apparently it was-"

"Especially baked just for Reid," Dave finishes, and they share a worried look, already moving closer to the couple. "Mister Reid, how do you feel?" he asks while Morgan's grip closes around the younger man's too slender wrist.

"What?" Reid asks, confusion evident in his face. He nonetheless seems to absorb what's not being said faster than Dave could ever hope to, and he allows Morgan to take what's left of the muffin without a fuss. "I think we better leave." His tone is calm, but evidently Miss Archer knows him well enough that she understands something is wrong.

"Of course," she says, nervousness instantly disappearing, so good an actress she is. "I'll explain my agent. Go ahead and I'll meet you in the car."

"Baby girl," Morgan says on his phone as they reach the parking lot. "I need directions to the closest hospital from our current position."

"Second closest," Reid interrupts, directing them to what Dave assume is Lila's car, a red coupé 3 Series BMW. "They have a better Poison Unit," the young man explains.

Dave seems to be the only one paying attention, though, as Morgan stops and looks surprised, squinting as if trying to better understand the words coming from his phone. "What do you mean you can't? No, I do not - Garcia?" The clear worry in his face is not comforting for Dave, especially when Morgan adds, looking at him directly in the eye while holding the phone as if it might be a snake about to bite him, "She hung on me."

"Did she tell you why?"

"I can give you directions," Reid says, and something in his voice makes Dave look at him, really look at him. He doesn't seem any different, his exterior as bland as his blandest they have witnessed so far.

He is, nonetheless, sweating.

"Is it starting?" Dave asks, and his own tone of voice brings Morgan back to the situation.

Reid jerks his head, the movement neither a shake nor a nod. "It might be psychosomatic," he says, opening the back door as soon as Morgan disengages the alarm. They all turn when Miss Archer's heels reverberate in the otherwise quiet parking lot.

"And it might not."

Reid's only answer to Dave's comment is an almost invisible nod, which makes nothing to help his own psychosomatic response. He did, after all, took a bite of that other damned muffin.

The trip to the hospital is a bizarre collection of jumbled scenes, and Dave only recalls bits and pieces of it later. He remembers mentioning the waste basket, but is not sure if Morgan asked the police to retrieve the evidence, or if Dave called the officers himself. He remembers Reid writing down in a notepad, first directions for Morgan and then a description of symptoms as they strike him - he doesn't remember where said notepad came from.

Reid's blue lips and the convulsions that twist the thin body almost as soon as he's laid down in a stretcher, those Dave is never going to be able to forget.

Nor is the fact that he almost immediately passes out due to his own panic attack.

The amount of poison in his system is so low that, according to the doctor, it should have only caused some minor discomfort for the next two or three days. The only reason it affects him so much, the woman explains, is his own heart, pumping on adrenaline and working overtime.

"Take it easy, Mister Rossi," she orders, stern and with a motherly exasperated tone that would have worked much better if not for the fact that she's way too young for him to think of her as any kind of motherly figure.

He finds Morgan outside of Reid's room, relief evident when the other agent sees him in such a better shape. Their charge, on the other hand, looks fragile and sickly, and even more impossibly young. Dave is amazed to find him conscious and alert. He's not surprised to discover that he's trying to convince the medical staff to let him leave.

"We'll keep you in observation two more hours," the harried doctor eventually compromises, leaving the room and refusing to engage in further discussion.

It is a clever move, Dave has to admit.

Behind him, a uniformed officer approaches Morgan, handing him a paper slip that Dave can bet are lab results.

"The poison was injected into the muffin," Morgan informs before passing the paper to Dave. "I'm not sure what it tells us about the UNSUB, other than he's getting sloppy and leaving proof of the attack."

"Do we know where the muffins came from?"

"Anna does a new batch every week, and we distribute them between Spencer's agent, my assistants, and home." Miss Archer is now standing next to them instead of by the bed, and glares when Morgan and Dave share a look. "She wouldn't do it," she adds testily.

"Lila, they are only doing their job," Reid says from the bed, where he's now sitting upright. Considering that he's been actively trying to hinder their investigation, his words are unexpected.

"So you believe Mrs. Suez-"

"No," Reid interrupts Morgan, and then interrupts him again before he can open the mouth to retort. "And yes, I know how it looks, but there's the fact that I don't eat anything that hasn't been prepared by Lila, Anna or myself. Therefore, the only way to poison me with food necessarily has to involve something from our kitchen."

"Which is why the poison wasn't cooked into the muffins," Morgan says with a frown. "Somebody tampered with them, sometime after Mrs. Suez prepared them."

There's something that's been bothering Dave, and he finally voices it. "You drank water too, at the photo shoot set. From what I saw today, I can bet you don't always eat at work, but you always drink liquids."

"So you think it would have been a surer bet to poison the water?" Reid's face is blank, but pales a bit more, which should be impossible.

Lila looks more than slightly scandalized.

"Everybody drinks those bottles!" she hushes.

"Whereas your war dogs have been trained to kill anybody who looks at the muffins." Morgan nods, agreeing with Dave 's words. "The UNSUB hasn't really cared about injuring others before."

"It has, and in a way hasn't. It doesn't add, either he is organized or disorganized," Morgan adds, his attention suddenly zooming on Reid, whose eyes are focused on his bed sheets. "You know who is doing this!" Morgan states indignantly.

"I'll better rest until my leave," the young man says, his voice weary and tired. "Lila, can you stay?"

They are basically being kicked out of the room. Morgan is about to protest when a nurse approaches them, informing Morgan has a phone call.

"Kevin?" Dave hears Morgan ask into the nurse's station phone. "She _what_? Why?" A small pause follows, and Morgan looks at the wall clock. "We'll be in our way by then. Does she have the address?" He rolls his eyes and smiles, making Dave wonder what the hell he's talking about with who he assumes is Kevin Lynch.

The call doesn't last much, and soon Morgan is returning to Rossi's side.

"Garcia is on a plane," he says. He doesn't explain where she's going to, it is clear she's flying to LA. Now, _why_ is she coming to meet them, Morgan's face makes clear he has no idea.

Dave ponders for a moment about calling Aaron but decides against it, at least for the moment. The decision can wait until the three of them have had the chance to speak again. Now they have to look for something to pass the time.


	6. Chapter 6

"Wow," Garcia says when he parks in the loading and unloading area. "I hate being unfaithful to Esther, but she is a beauty."

Dave doesn't know who this Esther is or what she has to do with the Turner, but he refrains from asking. Those questions, at least. He has many in store related to the case that is not a case.

"What are you doing here, Garcia?" is the first one. He's gentlemanly enough to wait until her suitcases are in the back seat and they are on their way out of the airport.

"I think I'll explain once we've regrouped, sir," she nervously answers, her phrase between a question and an affirmation. She waits for his acquiescent before fishing a cell phone out of her giant pink and purple hand bag, and then starts a conversation with Lynch that entirely consists on monosyllabic on her part and almost lasts until they arrive to Reid and Archer's place.

They find the other three in the living room, Reid half sprawled in the largest couch and obviously fighting sleep.

"He's even cuter in person," Garcia whispers to Dave, her smile bright even if not to her usual standards.

"Miss Archer, Mister Reid, this is our Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia," Morgan introduces her, at the same time addressing a silent question at Dave.

Rossi shakes his head.

"Hi! Can I use your plasma screen to set a video call?" Garcia asks immediately, her voice too high and the words coming out in a rush. It doesn't take a genius to realize she's all too aware of who and how famous the house owners are.

Dave won't admit it, but whenever possible he's used other people's reaction to Garcia to add to their profile. She can be overwhelming even if in a not threatening way, as she's clearly not an FBI agent. Still, she's the most open woman he knows, and that raw honesty never fails to elicit an unguarded response.

He isn't disappointed this time: Miss Archer appears a bit baffled at first, but recovers fast and smiles sweetly at Garcia, who smiles back and relaxes minutely. Reid, on the other hand, looks intrigued for barely a moment before his face goes back to lethargic.

"Maybe we can use your conference room," Lila Archer offers, and Reid nods in acquiescence, rubbing his eyes before getting up tiredly.

The conference room is small but well furnished, and Garcia clucks happily at whatever hardware it is equipped with for videoconferences. The adjacent office, on the other hand, is a surprise. As in empty-of-any-books surprise, equipped only with a desk and matching chair, and a state of the art computer Rossi now is willing to bet is not only clean of any incriminating files, but of all files at all.

Given what they know and suspect of the man, he had expected there to be hundreds of thick volumes covering the walls, and files related to the administration of Patrick Dershowitz's modeling agency littering the desk's surface. Obviously this place is for show only, and not Spencer Reid's real den.

"They, um, are going to contact us in about twenty minutes," Garcia says, digging out of her bag a clumsily put together file formed by, from Dave 's estimations, more than three hundred pieces of paper. "Okay, here's what I have," she starts, more or less equally dividing the sheets between Morgan, Rossi and, to everybody's surprise, Reid. "I worked around the parameters you gave me, single parent, mental illness, brilliant child. Of course, the first sample is too big and the second is protected by doctor-patient confidentiality, so I started with the last."

Dave can tell Morgan is uncomfortable with the fact that Garcia is delivering this information in front of both Reid and Lila, but to him it is another opportunity to watch the model's unguarded reactions. He is not at his best and has already left the mask slip, even if only a bit. Maybe this will help them understand him as much as whatever Garcia has dug.

"Of course there's not a database of genius kids, Mensa notwithstanding, so I kind of assumed that a brilliant kid would have had at least one brilliant parent, and that, as the movies have taught us, said brilliant parent would have been the one with the mental problem. And given that both parents are absent from this brilliant child's life from a very early age, I also kind of assumed the ill one ended in a mental health facility."

"That's a lot of assumptions, Garcia," Morgan states, leafing through his share of sheets and voicing what's been bothering Dave too.

"I know, I know, but I ran like a hundred different searches, and this is the algorithm that gave me the best result."

_Result?_ Dave sits straighter but doesn't interrupt, and neither does Morgan, even if it is obvious he wants to ask. But his attention too flicks back to Reid, who's looking kind of bored, an expression that would have been more believable if everybody present didn't already know who the subject of their conversation is.

"Still the resulting sample was too big," Garcia continues, and now everybody's focus is on her, "so I fed it into a program I've been working on, in order to find inconsistencies between all the available records linked to every person in the list. And one of the names brought interesting results." A click, and an old picture of a woman appears on the screen behind her. "Meet Diana Campbell, 15th Century Literature expert, former UNLV professor, and current resident of the Bennington Sanitarium in Las Vegas."

Reid doesn't react. Miss Archer, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably on her seat, keeps her eyes on the screen and avoids looking at Reid, which is telling on itself.

"What's interesting about Mrs. Campbell, Baby Girl?"

"Actually it is Ms. Campbell, as that's her maiden name. According to all legal records she never married. Nonetheless, according to other documents she did, and also had a child, and later divorced - again, there is no legal record of either child or divorce. I went as far as to do a search of her published articles, and old news mentioning her, and a fair amount of them were suspiciously missing."

"That seems to be a familiar trend."

Garcia all but ignores Dave's comment. She hasn't looked at Reid since she started talking, Dave has noticed. It makes him wonder what exactly she found.

"I also, well, followed a hunch," she goes on. "I searched for all Las Vegas women called either Diana Spencer or Diana Reid, and compared the resulting data with what I already had, and this came up." A newspaper's clip of a small family, father, mother and son, appears on the screen. The mother is definitely a slightly older version of Diana Campbell. "The man is William Reid, married to and later divorced to Diana Reid, _nee_ Campbell. The kid is Spencer Reid."

"What!?" It should be funny, the fact that both he and Morgan deliver the word in the same shocked tone. Nonetheless, Dave is too taken out of balance to find anything amusing in the situation. Reid's face is a study of hard planes and empty spaces; Miss Archer, on the other hand, looks about to get sick.

"What do we know about this kid?" Morgan, being the first one to recover, asks.

"Nothing, if you look at the official records. Apparently he was never born, never registered, never went to school or to a hospital or, well, you get the idea." Garcia makes a small pause before clicking on her keyboard again, and again. "Now, if you look in corners and in-betweens, you'll find that it is very difficult for people to really disappear, especially from other people's memories." There's clip after clip, old pictures and news, all about one Spencer Reid.

From what Dave manages to catch among the onslaught of images, as a child he had indeed been a genius kid. And as the boy in the picture gets older, the physical resemblance to the Spencer Reid sitting with them gets impossible to deny.

"They were very difficult for me to find, especially when the cyber attacks started," Garcia says, finally looking at Reid with an expression equally sad and honest. "But I did find them, and even if it pains me to admit this, there are people who are best than me at what I do. Whatever you're hiding from, sweetheart, you're not completely safe."

"I'm not hiding."

"Keeping your mother safe from, then."

The look on Reid's face is suddenly too open, too pained for Dave to keep looking at it, and the beep signaling an incoming call provides a welcomed distraction.

"I'll just," Garcia supplies, suddenly nervous and fighting for words, before pushing a button on her keyboard.

There are three persons on the other side of the wall screen, only one of which Dave expects.

"I won't talk if he's present," Reid blurts out before Dave can ask what Erin Strauss _and_ Jason Gideon are doing there. Somehow he isn't surprised to discover that the young man is glaring at the later.

"Dr. Gideon is here as personal representative of the CIA's NCS Director, Agent Reid," Erin says smoothly, although it is clear she's taken aback by the viciousness of his reception.

And then her words hit Dave, making him curse inwardly. He looks at Morgan and sees him connect the dots. Suddenly it all makes sense.

"I think it'll be best if only the members of the team and _Mister_ Reid remain present," Hotch intervenes with finality, and Reid looks at him for a moment before nodding in agreement. By the tight set of his jaw, it is obvious he won't be opening his mouth any soon if the request is not complied with.

"I have to speak with Agent Reid," Erin declares, glaring at Hotch and taking offense. It is kind of boring to witness how easy it is for her to hate Hotch, to blame him for every imaginary transgression.

Dave is not in the mood for her petty arguments, though. Not tonight, particularly, and that's why he interferes.

That, and the fact that he enjoys ruffling her feathers.

"I'm sure your presence conveys your message clearly enough, Erin."

"And I guess that's my cue to leave to my room," Miss Archer says then, raising up and squeezing Reid's shoulder. "The security system is engaged," she tells him, looking down with a soft smile at his suddenly worried face. "I'll be fine."

"I can pull the feed of all security cameras to my laptop," Garcia offers, her fingers already flying over the keyboard. "I mean," she hesitates, looking up nervously, "if you want me to?"

"That'll be great, thank you very much." It is Miss Archer who speaks, but they can say she is doing it on Reid's behalf.

It doesn't take long before Erin leaves too, taking Jason with her, not before the ex-agent directs a "We have to talk, Spencer," to Reid, turning before any answer is given.

Of course. He's always loved to have the last word.

* * *

**AN:** That's it. This is all I had. Thanks for reading!


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